


Heart of a Healer, Soul of a Dragon

by Nekolvr11



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition, The Inheritance Cycle - Christopher Paolini
Genre: Eventual Veil Destruction, Eventual Waking Old Gods, F/M, Non-Inquisitor focused, Riders forgotten in History
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2018-08-28 02:24:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8427637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nekolvr11/pseuds/Nekolvr11
Summary: The world was dying, a slow and terminal death. The Blight was not a curse from the Gods-or Maker, it was an illness in the land itself. Without the magic that once saturated the land, the races connected to that magic were the first to show the signs, elves aged, dragons became beast. An Order had been created to slow this sickness, but the Order of Dragon Riders fell long ago.





	1. Prologue

** Prologue **

When I was a child, I remember the tales the Brood Mothers used to tell us, before we were tucked into bed at night. Tales for the Urgal cubs; of great war chiefs from long ago when the horned giants went to war with the other races. Stories of brave humans and gallant acts of valor. But the stories I loved the most, were those from long before the Order of Riders; before the men, horned giants and children of the stone had come to these lands. Back before the Veil; in a time none now remember. A time when immortals of incomparable beauty and power lived in cities beyond imagination, and the god-like beings that ruled them.

I had dreamed, like so many of us, of seeing the day when the magic would be returned to the lands of Thedus. When the Veil would be torn down and the Order would have finally fulfilled their purpose, to preserve the races cursed to mortal lives until the magic was returned. It had been theorized that with the Veil in place the land and it's people would change, with the Order in tact the deterioration had been slowed to nearly none existent.

I had never thought I would live to see the fall of the very Order that I had expected to live out my years in, barely two decades out of my apprenticeship. Or to witness the slow death of the races, the very ones I had sworn to uphold and preserve. To watch as the world I had been born into changed under the tides of time and war, into something barely recognizable. The land itself was dying, not just the races who had been tied to the old magic. It was not an obvious illness, the Blight was thought to be a foreign thing brought on by power hungry magisters, a curse from the Maker. For one who has lived in these lands century after century, it had become clear as the Taint spread beneath the land. Like a body without an immune system, the land without magic had grown weak without notice until it had been exposed to something foreign and vile and it sickened under the influence. The Tainted ones spread under ground like poison under the skin, searching for those few beings left that old magic ran strong in.

With each passing Blight my hopelessness grows, I had been meant to protect this land and it's people not sit back and watch it all die. The elves are nothing like they once were, history and culture stripped from them even as their bodies withered under the influence of time. Dragons had become dumb beasts, all but a few and now there were only two of the old ones left; the only ones that could possibly continue on their race.

I never hoped, after all these centuries of searching, to meet the one being who could allow me to fulfill my oath; before all could be irreversibly lost.

Never even in my dreams, believed that I would fall for him...the one they called The Dread Wolf.

* * *

_**~574 years Pre rise of the Tevinter Imperium.** _

_"Don't you ever wish we could have lived back then?" A red headed human child asked, bare feet kicking the air as she lay sprawled on her bed, chin resting on upturned palms. Around the room the other assorted younglings were in various states of readying for bed after the evenings story._

_"Not really," replied the urgal cub in the next bed over who had pulled the blanket up to his nose._

_"You're so dull Rues." Complained the nine year old girl as she wriggled under her own bedding when Herdall Sif turned out the lights._

_"I'm not dull," grumbled the cub._

_"Sure you are, sheep." Quipped up an elfling across the aisle, his mirror image in the next bed._

_"Baah Baah dumb sheep, have you any brains?" Sung the other elfling._

_"Hey, take that back!" The human shrieked jumping out of the covers to the end of the bed._

_"Make me, round ear" goaded the second elfling. His brother sticking his tongue out at her in mockery._

_"Enough," Hahren Turielis ordered catching the human girl by the collar before she could jump across the aisle, "to bed with you Da'len."_

_"But-" the girl started._

_"To bed!"The elvish matron ordered sternly._

_"Yes, Hahren." She mumbled obediently. The matron then rounded on the twin elflings. "Feriel, Seriel I want to see both of you before breakfast."_

_"Yes, Hahren." The pair replied meekly as the room settled into silence that soon filtered into soft snoring and the patter of rain echoing from outside the stone walls._

_"Rues, are you awake?"_

_"Hmm." came the reply and the human took it as consent to slip out of bed, tugging her blanket along. Climbing into the cub's bed as he shifted over as the storm began to pick up outside, thunder rumbling like clashing titans. The two children snuggled back to back, a mutual comfort on a stormy night now that they were to old to go running off to seek the comfort of the Brood Mothers._

_"I'm sorry I called you dull," the human child mumbled burrowing her face in the borrowed pillow and took comfort in the heat radiating off the cub._

_"I's okay," rumbled back the cub. There was silence again between the pair until the cub rolled over to stare up at the arched stone ceiling overhead. "Nervous?"_

_"No," the girl said rolling to her back as well, flashes of lightning making the mural painted there visible for brief moments. Figures of all shapes and sizes; some massive and horned, others slight and ethereal, even a few with obviously blunt ears. All astride scaled mounts who's hides glittered like the purest of gems amongst the clouds. The bronze skinned cub glanced at her without a word, nubs of barely formed horns just beginning to sprout from amidst his short locks. "Maybe a little," she admitted in such a low whisper it was barely audible._

_"Same," Rues admitted. He was never a very talkative cub, usually answering questions in the least amount of words possible. Most took this as a sign that he was slow or simple minded, which could not have been further from the truth; Rues Grugson was one of the brightest members of the Azure Clutch. Something his closest friend wouldn't hesitate to take offense at, and vocally defend when brought up. "We'll be fine."_

_"What if we're not picked? You're definitely going to be, they would be crazy not too, but I'm not smart like you or know any magic like the twins." The human admitted desperately, tears welling up in her eyes before they were wiped away roughly with the back of a hand. "I don't want to end up in the wards or worse, apprentice to one of the archivists!"_

_"We'll be fine." Rues replied adamantly and rolled over to sleep._

_"Night, Rues."_

_"Night, Ciri."_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brood Mothers-the women in charge of raising the children in their designated Clutch.
> 
> Clutch- a designated group of roughly ten children about the same age containing a mixture of races. A Clutch remains together from toddler to the Age of Selection(9 for Urgals and Humans, 25 for Elves)Elves tend to be raised in separate Clutches and merge with another two years before the Age of Selection.
> 
> Urgal- Kossith who predate the Qun.
> 
> Herndall(Urgal)-Urgal Dam who rules over tribe. Or the title I am giving to Urgal(race) matrons that look out for the children in their Clutch.
> 
> Hahren(Elvish/dalish)- elder among dalish tribe. Or the title I am giving to Elvish(race) matrons that look out for the children in their Clutch.  
> Be sure to leave a Kudo and a Click to help my Pet grow on your way out!
> 
>  
> 
> [](http://www.petadoptables.com/levelup.php?id=1100587)  
>   
> [Adopt your own virtual pet today!](http://www.petadoptables.com)  
> 


	2. The Wrath of Heaven Part 1

** The Wrath of Heaven **

**Year 9:41 Age of the Dragon**

The overwhelming smell of medicinal herbs and sickness permeated the healer's hut, a moderately sized building nestled on a hill in what had once been a quiet corner of Haven. Ragged coughs, labored wheezing and pained moans filled the air as Haven's resident healer tended to them.

"Shh your going to be fine." A gentle musical tone crooned, as cool cloth soothed fevered skin. The young soldier let out a wheezing sigh as he shivered under the thick wool blankets, breath coming in shallow gasps and eyes closed in exhaustion. The senior healer continued to speak in a deep and melodic tone that sounded otherworldly, an all but forgotten language. Returning the cloth to the basin, wringing it slightly before it was placed on the man's clammy forehead. A few moments later he was silent, falling into a peaceful sleep.

The basin was returned to the table by the front door where it had come from; the small hut had become quite full in the last few days, as a number of the soldiers had been brought in with symptoms ranging from fatigue to unexplained confusion and severe trouble breathing. Other cases, involving physical injury had to be diverted to the Apothecary next door to keep the numerous cases of altitude sickness contained and out of the way. The soldiers had arrived to aid in attempting to fight back against the growing horde of demons falling from the Breach, but had made little progress with the rifts growing, with the rate that the soldiers were arriving many were falling sick. With no time to take the normal gradual assent to Haven and then on up to the Temple, many of the lowland soldiers were suffering severely from the change in altitude. Without Cirilla, and her particular grasp on the healing arts, many of the young men would have to be sent down to lower regions or risk death.

Topping off the bowl with fresh cold water, her task was interrupted by the door opening as an elf child walked in, carrying a large clay pot in both arms.

"Ah, good Adan finished it just in time, thank you Rena." The jar was placed on a shelf by the fireplace, next to an identical but far less full container. It held a special herbal mixture from the Apothecary next door that Adan had been gracious enough to supply her with, at the current rate she was going through jars of the mixture a day brewing teas to help keep her patients hydrated and help there bodies adjust to the thinner air. It seemed she was able to release one only to have more brought in.

"Serah Cirilla, ya should really get some rest." Rena said, dusting off her hands as she used a foot to push the kettle further out over the fire, setting it to boil.

"I am fine Rena, but thank you for your concern." the woman replied with a kind smile that didn't quite reach her eyes as she patted the 14 year old elf on the head.

"Hey," The girl giggled quietly, cautious not to wake the sleeping sick. "But really you spend all night an' most the day in 'ere. Your going ta get run down and then you'll be the one get'n sick. How's dat gonna help anyone?" She asked, thick city accent in full effect as she put her hands on her small hips in a pose reminiscent of a scolding mother.

The elfling had come to live in Haven with her aunt some six months back, it had been quite a cultural shock for the young girl to go from the packed alienage of Denerim to the small town of Haven, but she had adapted quickly. The girl's aunt was the local seamstress and had tried to get Rena to take up the trade as well, but with little luck. Rena had had no interest in the trade nor patience to learn. It was only after Ciri had taken the girl out with her to collect herbs that she showed any interest in anything and it seemed herb lore had been just the thing. After that Rena had been taken on as her apprentice as well as studying under Adan when things were slow. She would be a brilliant healer or alchemist, that is when she finally decided on which profession to go into.

"I will be fine." Cirilla said kneeling down next to another patient and tucked the blanket up snugger around him. "But if you insist, I suppose I could take a short rest. Would you mind keeping an eye on them for a bit?"

"Sure thing boss." the girl said fist to her chest saluting cheekily, imitating the soldiers she had seen on the training field, her twin braids swishing by her pointed ears as the unevenly cropped brown hair stuck out haphazardly.

"Thank you, Da'len." she said taking off the apron she wore over her normal clothes and hung it in it's proper place on the wall by the door, before taking up her fur-lined shawl. Draping it over her shoulders she adjusted her head scarf, tucking a stray lock back in place. Her dark red hair was normally secured in a tight bun but despite her best efforts strands still managed to escape while she worked. Before making sure her sensitive ears were covered, out of contact with the bitter cold wind.

Picking her satchel up she pulled it over one shoulder and cast one calculated look at her sleeping patience, alert for any sign of distress or agitation but all were sleeping, if a little fitfully. Slipping out of the door she wrapped her shawl tighter around herself and braced against the winter mountain chill, evening was setting in and the snowy landscape was being lit in a sickly green glow.

The Breach was loud overhead, the creatures being pushed and pulled through the tear in the Veil; some were thrilled to be through, while others feared the waking world as they were twisted and warped into something they were not. The assault on her mind, the moment the Breach had opened had been a gong going off in her head; it was deafening, blinding and disorienting all at the same time. Then the screaming had started; spirits and demons alike, it had taken a great deal more effort than she would ever admit to raise her shield fully and block out the Breach. That had been two days ago; she had gotten accustomed to it now enough to be able to extend her senses again without being overwhelmed. Haven seemed blissfully deaf to the commotion above them; not of the demons raining down but the turmoil just inside the tear.

Cirilla had seen many strange and terrifying things in her time: a civil war forgotten in history, the annihilation of her entire Order and the obliteration of their stronghold in a single night. She had seen the terror that was the First Blight and the four that followed. She had born whitness at the very birth of a new Order; so much like her own in service to all of Thedas, astride mighty Griffins. Watched them as they swore their oaths to defend the lands from future Blights. She had seen a innocent slave child embrace the old magic like few could, she watched with trepidation as the child grew to lead in the name of her deity and saw as her death changed the world.

The hole in the sky had just moved up close to the top of the list of unusual things she had never wanted to witness. Just above that incident in Nevera; involving a nug, a dwarves sculpture and a band of intoxicated Tal-Vashoth.

Shaking the image from her head with a distasteful grimace, Cirilla turned away from her hut and headed down the warn path toward The Singing Maiden. Passing the hut, that until recently had been used as storage space; emptied over the last few days as they used up the food stores even as more arrived daily. Now it was the refuge of the elven apostate, Solas.

The elf was seated on a crate with one foot drawn up in the seat with him, back leaning against the wall and staff propped against his shoulder. He looked to have been asleep until eyes cracked open at her approach, sharp and clearer than normal for someone just waking.

"Good evening." He greeted politely, inclining his head before resettling back against the hut wall.

"Greetings Solas." she replied nodding her head in acknowledgment, a stiff smile on her face. To say she found the elf unnerving would have been an understatement. She had not noticed anything unusual at first when she had been introduced to the apostate in passing the first evening after the Breach had opened. Having been suffering from a severe headache and trying to reinforce her mental shield. It had taken till the next morning before she had found a manageable height for the defenses to settle at; still allowing her mind to connect and be aware of those around her without being overwhelmed. It had become quite obvious then, the void.

Every life form possessed an almost visible energy; from the smallest plant to the largest dragon. Sentient life forms took that to the next stage; minds capable of processing emotions, fear, sadness, guilt, joy. All this Cirilla could sense and if she chose there was another level to delve into; to bare a mind open like a book, view memories as if they were her own and unearth secrets that would never see the light of day otherwise.

For the most part Cirilla remained on a delicate balance between perceiving the life force and emotions of those around her, delving deeper only when needed; usually a thought on the surface of someone's mind, to help in comforting a distraught patient. To witness the thoughts of everyone around her would have not only gone against what she had been taught was morally right, but more so it would have been as distressing as the Breach itself. All those emotions not her own; she didn't want it, not their pain and guilt, not their anger or fears. She didn't want any of it.

Then there was Solas, sitting there on the crate before her; his energy slightly brighter than most around him. Obviously a mage; those who channeled the energy of the fade tended to grow brighter than non-mages. She didn't even need to see him cast to know his mastery was in rift magic as well as an inclination toward spirit magic, given the orange flecked green tint the normally colorless energy took, just visible if she put any focus into looking.

She could see him there; watching her disinterestedly garbed in threadbare but practical clothes, vibrant and alive as Adan just down the road. She could tell the alchemist was currently brooding in a fowl mood, but the elf before her was strangely silent. Not just silent but completely guarded in a manner that had been lost over fifteen hundred years ago.

"Would you wish to join me for a meal?" she asked courteously probing, the shield was not just some hastily thrown together defense; it was smooth and mirror like, constructed masterfully in a manner so that it wasn't obvious that it was even there, if it had not been for the gaping lack of sentient thought.

"Not at present," the Elf shook his head stiffly, "Seeker Pentagaste is wanting answers that I have yet to be able to provide. I have been conferring with the Spirits but it has been a trial in patience."

"Spirits not cooperating?" She asked.

"More of that there is a never ending parade of people going through my room." He stated sardonically, gesturing at the convenient soldier who was exiting said hut with a sack of oats swung over one shoulder. "I can get no peace."

"Maybe another time." She offered pulling her shawl tighter about her shoulders, "Dareth shiral, Solas." Heading down the steps, her feet sure on the icy surface. The Elf was a mystery she could solve at another time. While an oddity if he could help seal the Breach she was more than content to let him at it; then later if they survived, figure out who had trained him to produce such flawless mental defenses. After 18 hours of tending to the sick, she was drained and really only wanted a hot meal at the moment; if the ages had taught her anything it was patience.

The tavern was crowded and loud but far warmer than the air outside. Ordering her dinner, Cirilla picked out a small table that rocked haphazardly when she set down her bowl and mug of tea. She knew most of the locals having been the village healer for the past three years, most of them had come to see her at one time or another. The newer residence though, she was still getting to know; more and more seemed to be pouring in by the day since the Conclave had exploded.

Picking at her food she watched as the tavern patrons milled about and Cirilla could not help but shake her head. Some things would never change; while the locations and cultures would be different as night and day, you could always find someplace were the alcohol flowed, food was hot and locals could chat.

She had wandered into the village a few years back and had decided on a whim to stay, it was quiet and people didn't ask many questions about her past. To them she was simply Cirilla Vrangvard the odd healer who kept to herself. It was a nice place to hide away for several years, maybe even a decade before moving on.

The last fifty years of her life had been spent in or around Fereldon with a few treks into Orlais on occasion; it was about time she moved on, maybe back up north. It was still to soon to take residence back up in Denerim again. Over the years she might have stopped coming to the south all together; Fereldans were filthy cheese lovers that reeked of dog, Orlais made up for the cleanliness and lost even more points with their completely impractical fashions and constant backstabbing. Add in the pushiness of the local Chantry; when they found not only was she able to quote most of the Chant of Light, after one bored winter in the Free Marches two centuries back. Only to find out she was not Andrastian and was in fact beyond conversion.

What kept her coming back was the local avvar tribes. They're cultural differences to most of Thedus had them viewed as heathen, to Cirilla they were a welcoming comfort. Anything magical in most of Thedas was viewed as something to be controlled and monitored, someone who had lived far longer than proper was automatically labeled Abomination. The other part would have wanted to study her, Tevinter in particular, even try to replicate her longevity; something she would never allow attempted again. The Avvar were different, their view of magic was freer and in tune with their simple lives. She had tended to drift from one tribe to another, change was a part of their lives and so nothing was permanent. While there were a few who had taken issue with her ageless appearance even after several decades, the Avvar as a whole had adapted to her peculiarities and accepted her. In return she had offered them her wisdom and counsel in times of great need; even representing a clan long ago to gain a rather impressive clan-beast.

She had even been persuaded into marriage on several occasions, though only once in resent memory. Like everything in their culture even marital bonds were not forever; and so left Cirilla less burden by being forced to choose between breaking vows or being tied to watch a lover as age took him. She had left that life and her most resent lover almost twenty years ago now, with him she had left a son full of boastful pride and approaching manhood. She wondered if he had learned some of his father's sense as well as his looks, apart from her hair. Movran had always said nothing good could come from that fact, particularly after the eight year old had picked a fight with a gurgut barehanded and had surprisingly gotten out of the fray mostly intact. Had he taken over a Chieftainship of his own or been cut down in his arrogance? A sad thought, and brutal fact, but so was the life of the Avvar.

Maybe it was time to head back to Tevinter; It had been-what nearly eighty years now since she had been to the country so close to her native lands. Despite what the ancient Tevinters had done, enslaving the elves and all but destroying their culture. Cirilla would always view the country as the closest thing to her homeland as was possible to find in this day and age.

There were still full streets in Minrathous that had barely changed with the passing ages, with architecture a ghost of an echo of what she had grown up around. A cruel reminder of the home she had lost and the oath she had failed when she had woken from the long sleep, truly alone for the first time and the elves so far fallen.

Cirilla stared down into the broken reflection in her tea, part of her wanted to go back. To see what had become of her family there, unlike with the Avvar who embraced change, it had been hard leaving Tevinter that last time. She had been involved with a scholar there, his family had disproved of their relationship but Mettius had always had some way of placating them.

Mettius Vedius Sejanus had been a soft spoken young man when she had met him, she had been teaching a history class at the college. He had immediately become enraptured in the subject, much to his parents displeasure when he had told them he would not be completing his magical studies. They had become friends over the course of his studies and when her tenure had ended he had invited her to accompany him on his first expedition to some far off ruin. One trip had turned into two and then three; with each trip more and more years seemed to go by and Cirilla was finding it harder and harder to make herself leave. Then one night she had flat out said she was leaving. That was the first time in all their years together she had ever heard Mettius get angry, even when dealing with his pushy relatives he never so much as raised his voice.

He had known, or at least had suspected she had been hiding something even back when he had studied under her. He had always loved puzzling things out, whether an obscure text or his strangely knowledgeable companion. And then things had begun to change, she had stopped being a puzzle he wanted to unravel and slowly began to care deeply for the woman who hadn't aged a day since he had met her seven years ago.

He had wanted to see things the way she did, why this temple brought a fond smile to her face? What mentions of certain era made her smile just a bit sadder. He wanted to know all these things, but he never asked, not after he had slowly begun to fall for her. He knew with every passing year, with each sad smile she sent him when they had completed yet another expedition; if he asked, that was all it was going to take and she would run never to be seen again in these lands during his lifetime. Then she had said she was leaving and something snapped.

"I don't care," he had shouted at her, "I won't ask and you don't have to tell me a thing more than you want too. To hell with what other people say. We can leave the country, there are plenty of old things down south that need unraveling. Just please don't leave me over something as stupid as this. Unless you have truly grown bored of my company."

She knew she would regret not leaving, some days she had even second guessed herself and nearly packed to leave again. She knew how this was going to end, and for some pathetic reason she allowed her self to stay. She was never meant to be alone, the scar on her palm said as much and yet here she was year after year, age after age going through the same destructive cycle, clinging to a companionship knowing one of these days it was going to break her.

They traveled for many years together all over Tevinter and the Free Marches, even a few years in Rivaine. They had split up for a few days when exploring some seaside ruins trying to take advantage of the tides and full moons, something she would always regret.

She had known something had been wrong when she got back to camp to find the fire cold. She had found Mettius, fevered and barely breathing in his tent. The healing amulet she had gifted him doing what it could, but it had taken several powerful healing spells to dislodge the foreign disease she could feel in his lungs, suffocating him. The two men that had been with him were long dead, Cirilla had to burn them and their things or risk the plague spreading.

Mettius had never fully recovered after that, he had tried to continue traveling for her sake but it was clear his health would not hold in cooler climates or when the weather turned. They moved back to Tevinter, got a descent sized house in a quiet district of Minrathous and settled in so that They might finally sift through the years of research and Mettius might finally get it all published. His black hair had been greying by then she recalled taking a sip from her lukewarm tea.

She had stayed like she had promised, even when people had begun to gossip. Dispite her best efforts Mettius had died from his illness, though not until he had lived to see their daughter married off. Cirilla had left then, her daughter moving on with her life and unable to sit back and watch another loved one whither and die before her. She would be an old woman now, Cirilla mused sadly, if she even still lived. It had been a long time since they had written, not since her granddaughter had been married off to some Magister and likely had grown children of her own by now.

"Hey Kitty, why the long face?" Came the charismatic voice of Varric Tethras as he seated himself uninvited across from her at the rickety table and drawing her from her somber thoughts.

"Hmm," Ciri hummed looking up from her food. "Hello Varric."

"Patient causing you trouble?" He guessed looking her over.

"No, just wondering how some people I know are handling all of-this." She gestured at the ceiling in a general indication of the Breach above.

"I'm sure they are fine, Kitty." Varric said in that charismatic tone of his, the one that had the locals practically falling over themselves to eat up his most resent tales. "Where are they, no offense but you don't sound like most of the locals?"

"Around," Ciri hedged with a secretive smile.

"Come now Kitty," The dwarf prodded good naturedly, "throw me a bone here. I'm not the only one curious, give me a bit and I'll come up with my own story, with proper embellishments of course."

"If I start giving up my secrets now then people might realize how boring my life really is," Ciri proclaimed in mock dispair, "No I believe I enjoy it far better with the less I say. Unless of course you would like to swap stories. I'd love to hear all about that crossbow of yours-Bianca wasn't it."

"Alright, alright you win Kitty." Varric said throwing his hands in the air in defeat, though he was still smiling kindly.

Varric always had a way with names, particularly for those he took an interest in. Kitty had been his name for her right off the bat, he had been trying to get her attention when a load of wounded from the first attempts at containing the Breach had gone horribly wrong.

"Hey, Cat Eyes!" had been what had caught her attention enough to focus on the dwarf and the wounded man he had been aiding. Later the name had simply been shortened to Kitty, or Kitty Cat on occasion. The source of the name had been obvious, eyes the color of liquid gold made even more unique by the elongated pupils that gave them a feline appearance.

For the most part Cirilla was passed off as any other human commoner, despite her unusual eye color. That is until her ears were on display; small ears that tapered to a fine tip. Normally they were obscured enough by her hair or given the cold climate hidden by a hood or scarf away from the biting chill. Paired with a facial structure that had the slightly sharp and angled look that could very easily have labeled her an elf if not for the fact that her build was far to tall and broad to believably pass as an elf. Most people assumed she was some cross of races even though it was well known that any children born from the union of an elf and a human, would be born human with no elvish features.

Ciri took a bite from her stew contemplatively. "Has Cassandra been bothering you again?" She asked in between bites and gesturing her spoon at the dwarf.

"Nah, not since she got her new obsession," Varric said with a dismissive wave of the hand and taking a drink from his tankard. "She's been leaving me be for the most part." Chewing thoughtfully as she eyed the Dwarf with a knowing amusement. She had a great many dealings with Dwarves over her life time and had always been fond of the sturdy creatures, her first posting after she had graduated out of the rank of apprentice had been in one of the Dwarven outposts. It was there that she had made her first friend who had had no connection to the Order and he had sheltered her and Arisaari for a number of years after the events that had destroyed her home. That had been back when the Dwarves had been more open to building settlements that reached all the way up to the surface, in what was now western Orlais. She always enjoyed the chance meeting of a Dwarf who was comfortable in the openness of the above lands of Thedis.

"Feeling neglected by your Seeker, are you?" she asked breaking off a piece of hard crust from her bread and dropping it in her stew to soften it. Jabbing it with her spoon to keep it from floating back up in the rich broth, she smiled teasingly at the Dwarf.

"I'll admit maybe a little," Varric conceded with a chuckle, "life just isn't the same when I don't have Cassandra prowling about with that disproving scowl on her face, making me look over my shoulder every few seconds." Ciri laughed softly shaking her head, soon enough Varric was called away by another patron leaving the healer to finish her meal in peace before returning to her hut to check on her patience.


	3. The Wrath of Heaven Part 2

Dreaming was something Cirilla looked forward to at the end of the day and yet loathed. Inside her expertly crafted shields was a section of dream away from the Fade. It contained only her memories, safe from prying demons that would have enjoyed taking them out to play with, drawing out memories of times past in order to tempt her. Spirits too would have enjoyed sifting threw all that her shields contained, spirits of Wisdom, Knowledge and Valor would come from time to time to brush against the surface, their purposes drawing them close in hope that they might be let in, even if for but a moment. For the most part, the denizens of the Fade left her be and she was in no rush to venture out and mingle.

' _You're wandering again, My Heart_.'

Ciri sighed breaking her gaze from her open balcony doors, there were still several hours of daylight left before the warm summer sun disappeared behind the mountain ridge but her gaze had been looking past the sky to the shifting landscape beyond her walls.

"It's back again," she mused from her position reclined back on a cream chaise lounge, large tome resting on her lap.

' _Again_ ,' rumbled the large kyanite dragon coiled in his bed; more like a cushion-lined pool set into a dais that dominated a large portion of the elegant and open room. The dragon raised his head from the large pillow propped on the edge of his bed, squinting slitted golden eyes out the large arched doorway set in the wall beside the balcony. ' _That's odd, it hasn't gotten this persistent in centuries._ '

Ciri hummed in agreement, the shadow shape was barely distinguishable from under the thick branches of a knurled tree. The tree rested just outside the border of her shield and seemed to be both growing beside and through a large Tevinter statue, something that was common in spaces of the Fade between dreams.

Erebus, they had called the being that had taken to stalking their walls from time to time, looking for what they could not say. While given some attention the land outside her walls could be seen beyond the bounds of her current memory. The opposite, was not nearly as successful; their visitor would unlikely be able to see more than the reflection of his own backdrop.

The shadow shape that made up Erebus shifted, three pairs of glowing points of light flickered in the midst of an inky blackness. Eyes blinking in unison, an unnerving sight at first but the Dragon and Rider had grown used to Erebus's sporadic and unusual appearances over the years.

Cirilla turned back to her book, enjoying the memory of a warm summer evening of her youth as the sun began to sink down toward the western ridge of the mountains. Doru Araeba, the capital city of the Riders, was nestled safely in the crater of a ring of high mountains. The city was a set of large tiers, each leading higher and further back along the mountain valley until the highest most one was nestled at the bace of the largest of mountains surrounding them. When she had been young, Ciri had been impatient to finish her studies and get outside, in hope of meeting with her friends for a flight down to the lower valley beyond the great mountain gate.

Time passed as Ciri read, Arisarri watched her through hooded eyes as he listened to her through their bond. High in the upper most peak, smoke could be seen rising from their open windows, the Great Skyforge built into the mountain itself was always aflame. Though large, as most Riders residence required to acomidate their partners, Cirilla's quarters where rather simple. Her study also served as a general living space and had a small kitchenette off to one side and a bathroom. The main floor space was taken up by the two cushion lined dragon beds in opposite corners. The rest of the area was filled by a small table and pair of chairs near the kitchen, her current seat and her desk on the far wall where the wall had been covered in bookshelves.

A single bedroom was up a small flight of stairs back behind the desk, while a second sleeping space was nestled above one of the bookshelves. It was small and simple as were most quarters given to new Ebrithil's but it was home.

For much of her younger years she had shared the same quarters with the other younglings learning her letters, arithmetics, saddle crafting, history and the use of a general array of weapons.

When she had turned nine; a time when young riders were forced to participate in frustrating and impossible tasks in order to agitate them into access their magic for the first time. This was different for each race; as the races aged at different rates until the long exposure to their dragon's particular brand of magic slowed down the non Elven races. Usually this effect began to present itself in their early to mid teens for the Humans and Urgals. Elven children aged much slower; the magics of their ancestors still lingering in their blood and were more adapt at accessing their natural abilities on their own, though with each passing decade it seemed more and more elven children were having to participate in the tasks.

Once she had gained access to her magic; she and her Dragon had been placed with an Ebrithil. An elven Rider by the name of Kuthian. When she had still been an apprentice, she had stayed in far more lavish quarters; even having a full bedroom rather than a simple loft room. It was the perks of having an Ebrithil who was on the Counsil. Kuthian had lived along side the other Counsil Elders on the second tier of the city, where the Great Library stood alongside their living quarters.

Resting at the highest point of the city was the Council chambers; a beautifully crafted building with great trees of silver bark and golden leaves serving as the pillars that held up the gleaming gold canopy above as the branches had been coaxed into forming a roof of branches and leaves. It was solid enough to keep out even the worst of weather and yet the birds could still be seen flitting in and out of the branches as they carried messages around the city.

Only one other building shared the tier with the Counsil Chambers; the Nest was a great tree, far taller than any other in the lands. A valley rested in its roots. It was there the younglings were sent in alone one by one; either emerging as a Rider-in-training or alone and to be sent off to be apprenticed elsewhere. On rare occasions they were sent back to their families but most would find better lives apprenticing to a craftsman in the city than returning to farm in some rural region. There, under the ancient tree, the Great Mother sat ever present, guarding her charges until it was time for them to emerge into the world. It was a daughting task, to approach the unbonded dragon alone and know that this moment was what would determine your whole life.

After she had been Knighted, she and Arisarri had moved to the much more crowded Knights barracks that resided on the fourth tier along with general housing for the tradesmen, archivists and other denizens who took up permanent residents within the city bounds. Below that sat the market center, where traders and craftsmen would come all over to peddle their wears before the great mountain gates.

The third tier was reserved for the apartments she now sat in as well as the living quarters where the younglings were kept in their different Clutches and the training ground.

"Serah."

"Hmm," she paused and looked over at Ari, who was watching her sadly with half lidded eyes.

' _Don't leave, My Heart_.'

"I can stay a bit longer." She said reaching a hand out to him, the dragon raised his head and moved until his scaled nose ghosted over the gleaming scar on the flesh of her palm.

"Serah Cirilla,"

' _No, you're needed._ ' his voice rumbled sadly, dark lid falling closed over his golden gaze as he pulled away and Cirilla followed. Book falling forgotten from her lap as she stood to move to the dragon as he retreated, coiled in on himself, like a hatchling shying from a painful blow. _'It's time for you to-'_

-wake up.' Cirilla's eyes opened with a jolt.

"Come on, Serah ya need ta get up. Da Commander wan's ta see ya!" Judging by the light filtering in the window, she had been asleep for about four hours. Rena was poking her head into the room through the fabric barrier that separated the Healer's bed from her patience.

Ciri closed her eyes and took a breath as the void in her chest gave an agonizing tug as her mind reflexively clawed at the silent Bond as the dream lingered just out of sight behind her eyelids. This was why, Cirilla loathed and yet loved dreaming. Ari had been missing for over nine centuries now, leaving her alone in this world, but their bond still held. She had searched high and low for her partner and had found no trace of what had become of him, but in sleep she could still see him. She had thought her mind had been just filling the void with a memory of the dragon but it became clear that the Arisarri in her dreams was in fact her Ari still sleeping someplace all these years. Knowing he was alive someplace, safe enough to dream was no consolation when every morning she woke to a dead and silent bond.

"Are ya awake now?" the young elven apprentice questioned excitedly.

"Yes," Ciri replied opening her eyes again, her voice uncharacteristically weak and hoarse. "Yes, I am awake. What is going on, more injured? " she asked after swallowing the lump that had lodged in her throat. Rising from her bed she smoothed out her sleep rumpled clothes; she had only intended to lay down and rest for a few minutes so had not changed out of her normal warm wool dress. Using a moment when her back was turned to the doorway she undid the cloth wraps on her hands. The scar still glimmered in the light, overshadowing the mottling of burns long healed that decorated them as well. Taking a pitcher from the stand she filled a basin and splash the cold water on her face as the young Elf explained hurriedly.

"The man is awake, the one 'oo fell from the Fade Rift. I herd ah couple guards talking when I was helping Nan with the wash. Messenger came an 'sisted I come wake you right way. Commander's order an all. Somethin big is happening, troops been leaving in groups since the wee hours."

"Why didn't you wake me before?" Cirilla scolded, drying her hands and rapping them back up again before sitting on her bed to pull on her boots. Hastily standing and moving out from behind the blanket divided area. Taking her fur shawl from its hook by the door and draped it on. If Commander Cullen was asking for her then whatever was going on must be serious, seeing as he had his own healers to see to field injuries. Quickly tying her red locks back in a loose tail, having not the time to put it up properly as she donned her head scarf. The hut was not nearly as crowded; a number of the patience had been released to their own beds with instructions to rest; a few of the more serious cases were still present but seemed to be recovering.

"You 'ad only just gone ta bed," the teen defended, her cheeks redening as the Healer's stern golden gaze fell on her. "ya needed the sleep an nothin' serious has happened yet." She eyed the girl, judging the sincerity of her words and finding them ringing with truth; the girl really had been concerned about her mentor's well being.

"I understand you felt you were doing the best thing," the healer said, turning her eyes back to her hands as she shoved a number of her personal remedies into a satchel. If the Commander was asking for her it could only mean he wanted her skills for something, she would take some of her things along just in case. If the prisoner was finally awake then she would need to look over him as well to see how his body was handling the Mark. From the looks of things the day was shaping up to be a busy one. "but next time I would appreciate it if you woke me before things got serious enough for me to be sent for."

"Yes, Ma'am." Rena said chastised.

"Good," Cirilla stated patting the girl on the shoulder as she pulled her satchel on. "I'm trusting you to look after things here, I'm sure you are more than capable."

"Yes, Ma'am." Rena said more confidently.

"If you run into any trouble, you know where I keep my notes and Adan is just next door." The healer instructed before slipping out of the hut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Erebus- meaning 'deep darkness, shadow'
> 
> Ebrithil-Master,
> 
> Rider Ranks: Hatchling(those to young to form a bond), Apprentice, Knight, Master, Counsil(title given to select Master).


	4. Wrath of Heaven Part 3

**The Wrath of Heaven-Part 3**

Stepping out into the early morning chill, Cirilla took in the organized chaos that was Haven, as the soldiers and residence moved about their morning business with new vigor.

"Healer!" came a call from the courtyard above, Cirilla paused just past the Singing Maiden tavern, by the cook fire that Varric so often frequented; where he enjoyed beguiling the cook and her assistants with his tales. Scanning the courtyard above the fire pit that was currently lacking it's usual Dwarvish fixture, as the cook went about preparing the camps morning meal; she spotted Lady Nightingale. The cowled woman was standing near the lip of the wall by the tent her ravens were roosting in.

"Your skills are needed urgently, Healer." The spymaster stated with a gesture for her to follow as she turned to head toward the top of the stairs.

"The Commander is expecting me," Cirilla stated, even as swift strides took her around the cook tent and up the stairs, passing a messenger headed for the main gate along the way. Her quick pace had Cirilla coming up along side the other red head at the top of the stairs.

"I am aware," Liliana said in her usual quiet Orlesian accent, meeting her at the edge of the courtyard and walked with her the rest of the way up the worn road to the Chantry, "I have sent word to the Commander that you have been detained to see too the Prisoner."

"Has his condition changed since I checked him last night? His vitals were more stable and his sleep less troubled."

"Yes, he has begun coming around about an hour ago," the bard replied with a sidelong glance, "but we haven't the time to wait on him to wake naturally. The Breach is expanding to fast, something must be done. We need answers and if Solas is correct, the Prisoner might be the key in closing the Breach itself." The pair entered the Chantry and took the stairs down into the lower dungeons.

The healer gave a frustrated growl upon entering the prison, the man she had been looking after for the past three days was not where she had left him the night before on a moth eaten cot in one of the many empty cells. Now he was lying chained in the central cistern of the stone chamber, half slumped in a heap on his side still very much unconscious.

"Good, your here." the Seeker stated when Cirilla entered only to be ignored as she stalked over to her patient.

"Didn't I say not to move him from the bed without my permission?" Vel scolded helping the unconscious man into a more comfortable position on his knees, a hand on his shoulder to steady him. His eyes where closed but he gave a low groan, signifying that he was indeed begining to attempt waking after three days. Cirilla loosened his worn shirt that had been obviously forced on him after being dragged from bed. Cassandra Pentagast was pacing impatiently around the spacious room like a storm cloud ready to burst.

"I haven't spent the last three days keeping your prisoner alive for nothing. I will not have you undoing all my work because your too impatient Seeker." The healer snapped inspecting the bandages wrapped about his torso.

"We must find out what happen at the conclave, there is no time to wait around while the Breach is expanding." The Seeker retorted fists clentching and unclenching at her side as she paced.

"Well you won't find out anything, if your treatment kills him before he regains consciousness." The healer shot back scoldingly, the Seeker's recklessness could have destroyed any chance at closing the Breach if she did not check herself. The woman was grieving like so many, the Divine's death had been most hard on the Hands she left behind. Leliana seemed to be compartmentalizing better than Cassandra, who was ready to throw herself into the nearest horde of demons if it might help.

"Just wake him up, that is why you are here." Cassandra snapped coming to stand at the Healer's shoulder.

"Not until I have seen that you haven't torn up all my work with your treatment. So, you can either release these chains so I might get on with my work or I can continue to fumble around these restraints and waste both our time, Seeker." She stated ignoring the glare the woman was sending her way, tacking on the title as an afterthought. The Seeker made a sound of frustration before gesturing over one of the guards, the wrist cuffs binding the man to the floor were released. Grabbing the blanket from the cot in the open cell, Cirilla laid it out so as not to contaminate the wounds in the filth from the floor after she unwrapped them. Removing the torn and barely held together shirt from the man's frame she unwrapped the bandages under Cassandra's scrutinizing gaze.

Three days ago her life had been quiet; she had been out in the hills with Rena, showing the elfling the best places to find elfroot in the snow that already blanketed Haven in the early winter months. One moment she had been calling the girl back to their task, the young teen had become distracted by the ant like figures of the Mages and Templars on the distant road up the mountain as late arrivals made their way up. Suddenly the very mountain itself shook with a massive explosion.

Rena screamed as Ciri grabbed her arm, hauling her down the slope and under a rock ledge as a wave of snow cascaded down the mountain side, dislodged by the shaking. She had been completely disoriented by the sudden darkness as the snow closed in around them and Cirilla tucked the elfling close between her and the rock face, arms brace to keep from crushing the girl under the combined weight of her body and the snow baring down on them.

It was deafening; the onslaught of screams, howls and shrieks that assaulted her mind. It was as if the hushed hum of life she had sensed growing day by day further up the mountain gave a collective cry of fear and agony. Half a moment later it all was silenced, before a new and foreign sound replaced it. Foreign shrieks of pain and joy mingled together into a deafening and constant roar. Ciri was helpless against it as her mental shields slammed shut, leaving her mind in a silence she was unaccustomed too, like a sense had suddenly been severed. It took her an agonizingly long few minutes to right her equilibrium, as Rena curled into her whimpering, while the Healer sat frozen shielding her against the rock.

Had it been a full scale avalanche, they would have surely been buried along with the village further down. As it was they only had to dig through about a foot of snow before they reached fresh air and daylight, the village remained thankfully untouched. Their joy was short lived as they lay on the snow bank catching their breath, a prime view of the tear rending the sky above.

When they finally made it back to the village they found it in chaos as the residence panicked. Demons were raining down from the Breach like demented hail, the villagers fought them off as best they could until the soldiers and survivors arrived from the Pilgrims Path. The Left and Right hands taking charge of organizing the villagers and supplies, while Commander Cullen took over the defense of the village.

It was in that first day of panic and chaos that the prisoner had been brought in and given into her care. It was rumored that he was the one behind the explosion at the Conclave and the one who caused the Breach given the Mark he possessed mirrored the large Rift in its growth. She never found out much about the man in her care, he was human and not a Mage. Mages usually had a lingering trace of the Fade about them, the more powerful the Mage the more noticeable the residue. This man did not have the feel about him even if she could still feel traces of the Fade lingering on his skin, which was to be expected given the rumors that claimed he fell from a small Rift that had opened under the Breach.

She had tended to his wounds as he flitted between life and death; once brushing against his mind and found him plagued with dark dreams with too many eyes. The scholar in her had wanted to get a closer look at the Mark marring the man's palm, it had been a strange and fascinating piece of magic as it pulsed and grew with the Breach. After some contemplation she decided to leave it to the Apostate; the elf had arrived half a day after the Breach had opened, claiming knowledge of the Mark or at least that the Fade had showed him something about it.

She had been preoccupied with more pressing matters; finding a suitable method of dealing with her shields, attending to the injured and sick that were piling up on her door step even as more people poured into the village by the day. Her suspicions were raised, given her delving and personal involvement in the history of the lands. She had little dealings with the Fade and Fade Magic; true she had done some in depth studies into the progression of practical magic over the ages. But this Mark had been something completely different; not like the mate of the modern mages nor was it like her own. For lack of a better description, it felt old even by her standard. Her suspicion of the elf was made greater at her inability to access his feelings or intentions let alone his thoughts, it was most disconcerting. He claimed his knowledge was from dreaming in the Fade, but Cirilla did not buy that, there was something different about the elf. If they survived the impending expansion of the Breach she might even attempt to find out just what that difference was.

"Get him proper clothes if you don't want him to get pneumonia on top of everything else." She snapped at the guard that had released the restraints. The man ignored her, glaring at the opposite wall from his post, muttering under his breath so low that most would have missed it. He wasn't the first to make his opinion known, why they were bothering to keep the killer of the Divine alive?

"He may be guilty," she stated leveling her golden gaze at the soldier, he shifted under her stare, "and he will be dealt with accordingly." Her tone was commanding, a contrast with her usual softspoke demeanor as she cleaned away the drainage seeping through the stitches. Thankful that none of the sutures in the man's shoulder had been torn in his rough handling. Along with some bruising along his chest, there had been a few fractured ribs and a gash on one shoulder.

"On the other hand, it is just as likely he is just a survivor of happen stance. It is not for you nor I to decide. Now get some clothes for this man!" With a gesture from a still brooding Cassandra, the soldier left the prison sector while Ciri began rebandaging the man's shoulder, after checking over his fractured ribs. Pulling a slim bottle from her bag, she coaxed the prisoner into drinking the contents before packing up her things.

"That should wake him up in about a half hour, maybe sooner. He'll be a little groggy but it should clear with time. If you must tie him up don't use those chains if you can, you nearly tore out all his stitches." She advised the Seeker and Spymaster, slinging her satchel back over her shoulder.

"Thank you, Healer. That will be all." Cassandra said dismissively as one of the guards opened the prison area. Passing a guard on the stairs, carrying a worn set of scout's armor by the looks of it.

**Author's Note:**

> I know there are spelling issues, don't point them out. If I decide to seriously pursue this story I will get a beta and edit it. Right now I just what to know if there is any interest in it.  
> Seriously give me some feedback here, between this that I have posted so far along with my outline I've about hit 20 pages worth and I haven't even made it past arriving at Skyhold. Any quests you like to see, particularly in Wounded Coast or Hissing Waste. We'll be spending some time there while inquisitor is busy dealing elsewhere.  
> Any suggestions for things you would like to see since we will mainly be staying away from the main quests?


End file.
